


Lucky One

by felentae



Series: Spookytober [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Lucky One (EXO Music Video), Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Mutants, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 06:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16153499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felentae/pseuds/felentae
Summary: There's a stranger in Jongdae's cell.(1/31 - Extra limbs)





	Lucky One

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, deformities.

Jongdae heard someone walk into his cell, and then the blindfold over his eyes was gone, a short man with platinum white hair that he had never seen before menacingly towering over him.

“Who the hell are you?”

The other scooted closer, a hand firmly pressed over Jongdae’s mouth. “Shut up, or you’ll get us both in trouble.”

Jongdae had a lot of questions, but the stranger was untying the rope tightly wrapped around his wrists and he wasn’t about to complain.

“How long’s it been since the guards last came in?” The other whispered, frowning at the complicated knots around Jongdae’s ankles.

“I-- I don’t know,” Jongdae admitted, trying to remember. When had been the last time he had anything to eat? To drink? His joints ached, there was that constant, dull pain in his lower back from sitting on the cold floor for way too long. “Hours. Many.”

“That’s no good,” the man muttered. He finished undoing Jongdae’s restrains and held a hand out. “Can you run?”

Jongdae stared down at the stranger’s hand, but hesitated to take it. He knew nothing about him. Who was he? And why was he helping him?

Rustling noises came from down the hall, and the man raised his eyebrows and opened his palm in a silent gesture to move, fast, _now_.

Jongdae was pulled upright as soon as he held onto the stranger’s hand. His knees wobbled a little, too sore to hold his body weight, but the adrenaline rush rapidly took over. He was escaping. _He was escaping._

The corridors and empty cells looked all the same, but his rescuer navigated them with ease, pulling on Jongdae’s hand to run fast, turn a corner, stop and hide, then run again, _faster._ Jongdae fixated his eyes on the stranger’s back as they moved quietly, avoiding guards and security cameras. He was short but _broad_ , a massive black leather jacket seamlessly resting on his shoulders, somehow still there despite the constant bustle of their escape.

From what he remembered, Jongdae knew they couldn’t be far from the building’s exit. He had been drugged and restrained when they had brought him into the facility, but his record had been incomplete at the time, and his captors didn’t know that his mind needed a lot more than a normal dose of tranquilizers to be completely shut down.

The stranger stilled. Sharp, dark eyes scanned left and right, an arm darted out to press Jongdae against the wall.

“What--”

“Wait,” the man hushed him, a slim finger in front of his lips. Down the hall and around the corner, two guards ushered another prisoner, too drugged to resist but still too conscious to follow instructions quietly, already wearing the sterile, white clothes of the facility. Post-examination. Ready for quarantine and further research. For _testing_.

After what felt like an eternity, the wails and screams became distant enough to start moving again. Jongdae could almost taste the victory, so close to the exit, so close to freedom. So absurdly easy, or so it seemed.

And then it happened.

The blinding white lights of the corridor went off, quickly replaced by the blinking red emergency lights. A siren -- the siren Jongdae already knew too well -- howled in the distance, so loud and deafening it made him feel disoriented. Maybe that was one of its purposes, he’d never know. And then, in the distance, growing closer, dozens of footsteps, growls of commands, the sound of metallic restraints clinking in the hands of rapidly moving guards.

“Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen,” the stranger muttered, nervously looking for an exit.

The red lights went off, and by the time they blinked back, there were five, six guards surrounding them, stunning bats ready in their hands.

“Stop right there!” One of them growled. Jongdae recognized the sergeant badge on his lapel, shiny silver glistening red. The other five guards took a studied defensive stance and crawled forward just a tiny, careful step. The realization came to Jongdae for the first time in his long stay in the facility -- the guards were much more scared of him than he would ever be of them. “You have nowhere to go. Stomach on the ground, don’t do anything stupid or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Oh is that so?”

Jongdae felt his head turn on its own accord, so perplexed at the stranger’s mocking scoff that he had to check, _see_ the other’s expression, confirm what he was fearing. This wasn’t the time to act brave -- Jongdae knew that too well. But the stranger seemed to have a different opinion if the amused, taunting scowl on his face was anything to go by.

Jongdae knew it was coming, but that didn’t make the stunning bolt travelling up his spine any less painful, didn’t prevent the loud, agonizing moan to leave his gnarled mouth, and definitely didn’t help his knees hold the weight of his weakened body, dropping like a sandbag to the cold tiles of the corridor’s floor.

And he knew that the stranger would follow, his twisted, pained face appearing next to his on the ground, a guard’s boot over his neck, pressing down, teaching him a lesson, not to be so daring, choking him to put him in his place, remind him of who he was inside the facility, no one, _nothing_ , just another number, who would ask for him if he were to disappear, who would demand an investigation, just one less number in the roll call, another free cell for new, more interesting experiments, one less problem--

That never happened. Instead, Jongdae had to blink once, twice, make sure it wasn’t just the after-effect of the guard’s stunning weapons, but _no_. Even out of the corner of his eye, even under the dim blinking emergency lights, he saw clearly. An unsuspecting guard cuffing the stranger’s wrists together, only to be surprised by two extra pairs of knotty limbs, swiftly appearing from under the depths of his cleverly oversized leather jacket, two extra pairs of hands, blood clots pulsing on their knuckles yet easily undoing his restraints and knocking one, two, three guards down unconscious, lifeless rag dolls contorted in unnatural positions on the ground.

Jongdae squirmed to peel himself off the floor, now free of the attention of the remaining guards. The sergeant was firmly yelling orders over the loud cry of the siren, incongruent with his own horrified face, with the way he pressed his back against the wall. The two other guards branded their bats in front of them, their short military training failing them in the most crucial moment as they scrambled to fend for themselves, ultimately turning their backs and running down the corridor.

The abandoned sergeant cried on his communicator for help, sliding down the wall and curling on the floor like a scolded child. Jongdae felt his sore body being lifted by a pair, maybe two, of strong hands, and he turned to find the other prisoner already pulling him towards the exit.

It felt unreal, like an out of body experience. Like a dream. As soon as they stepped outside a bright, warm light -- _the sun_ , Jongdae knew -- blinded them, but they never stopped running. The fence was broken and open at the perfect spot, the perfect hole for a small body like Jongdae’s to go through, but too tight for the heavily equipped guards to follow.

The dusty dryness of the desert clung to their lungs, its warm, elusive sand tried to grab onto their feet and slow them down, but they never did, and they never stopped running, too hungry for freedom to give up when they could feel the finish line so close, almost touching it with their fingertips.

They never stopped running until they did, who knows how many miles later, when the wail of the siren couldn’t be heard anymore, the stranger purposely dropping behind a large rock the same light beige as everything else around.

Jongdae followed, his pained back finally resting against the rough surface, and it dawned on him how tired he was, but god, it felt so _good_.

“My name is Minseok,” the prisoner spoke between huffs of unsteady pants, his platinum hair glistening under the sun like an angel’s crown. He stretched a hand -- one of his original, normal hands -- and Jongdae accepted it in a shaky handshake. He was in no place to judge. The stranger -- _Minseok_ \-- surely knew that too. And Jongdae was grateful enough as it was, but the warm, exhausted smile accompanying the next words he heard made him feel safer than he had felt in weeks, months, who know how long.

“And now we’re partners in crime.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter [@felentae](https://twitter.com/felentae) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/felentae). Kudos and comments very appreciated :)


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